New Jersey, Old Jokes

Friday, February 18th, 2011 – I have officially resigned my brain, no sleep, dull

What can I say about New Jersey that you don’t already know, or at least, think you know, i.e., that it’s a steaming hotbed of Bruce Springsteen, heavy industry, guidos, The Sopranos and big hair?

New Jersey is known as “the garden state”, a fact that’s puzzling to many since gardens aren’t really the first thing that spring to mind when you think of New Jersey. They might be the seventh. (The first six are Jon Bon Jovi.)

Talking of Bon Jovi, I was reading earlier that New Jersey has the densest population of any state in the United States. I thought that was kind of mean really. I mean they can’t ALL be moronic, tiny, gnome-like loudmouths with big hair who write bad song lyrics, right? Then I realized it actually meant that NJ is the most heavily populated state and well, didn’t I feel stupid! And more than a little surprised, since that had sounded entirely plausible to me.

Simmer down, I’m kidding, Jersey folks.

Anyway, industrial northern New Jersey is probably what most of us think of when we think of New Jersey, which we tend to do only when we’re forced to, usually because we have to get from New York to Philadelphia in a hurry and because New Jersey’s the only thing standing in the way. By the way, have you ever driven on the New Jersey Turnpike? It’s delightful. People driving like they’re on meth, at 90 mph and weaving all over the road? That’s where I learned my giant swear vocabulary you know – on the NJ turnpike. My only guess is they drive like that because they’re frantically doing their utmost to get out of Jersey and into Delaware or New York before it gets dark.

Wait, what was I saying about northern Jersey? Well there’s a lot of industry. End of story. It has Newark Airport, full of lots of indifferent TSA agents all vying to make your day of travel even more miserable. Oh and Elizabeth, NJ has some big docks. And more importantly, an Ikea.

One of the things NJ is famous for, other than John Travolta, Stephanie Plum and people called “Vinnie”, is the Jersey Devil – a hairy creature, descended from an old Jersey whore, and which is rumoured to be roaming the rural backwoods of Southern New Jersey. Various people have reported sightings of this fearsome beast over the decades, but I think there’s a severe possibility that it’s merely Snooki squeezed into a tiny dress several sizes too small and lost after a night out drinking tequila shots and being punched in the face by frat boys.

How about something you like about NJ, Veg, you don’t cry. Well, it’s funny you didn’t ask, because I like that it’s illegal to pump your own gas in Jersey. A dude still comes and does it for you like it’s 1955. His name’s probably Vernon or something. He has a wife named Vera, two kids (Skip and Judy) and drives a Buick with white wall tires.

What else? Oh yes, I believe there’s an ongoing skirmish between New Jersey and New York about who actually rightfully owns the Statue of Liberty. New Jersey claims it’s on their land (or water) and New York’s all, “Hey, fugeddaboudit that bitch is ours!” and people insult other people’s mamas and sulk in corners and yell insults in faux American-Italian accents. NJ gets the tiny, loud, orange goblin from “Cake Boss” to come in and throw a hissyfit. Insults are hurled. New York starts to cry. NJ then brings out the big guns by getting first son Danny De Vito involved. It’s ugly. (And he’s no oil painting either.) NY maintains principal ownership of the statue, although I believe technically it’s supposed to be shared. I would go look it up to be really accurate, but really, do you care? I don’t care. Fuck that.

Back to religion. So far NJ is a winner in one category – heathenism. Between 15 and 20% of people in NJ are not religious. Which really should endear it to me more than it does. And it’s actually a surprise because with all those Italian Guidos running around, you’d think they’d be a pretty Catholic state, no? Even though Guidos seem to break all the commandments and also a few that weren’t even invented.

I think that’s about it. I could go on, but I’ve already shortened this about three times and it’s not endearing me to the NJ populus much, so maybe it’s time to quit before someone tries to cut my throat. In the words of famous New Jerseyite, Gloria Gaynor, let me just give you a fist pump, New Jersey, and yell “I will survive!”

Next week come to California!

The State of The Nation – Massachusetts

Friday, February 11th, 2011 – I must have a Coke Or People Will Die, painting self-portrait, I’m a zombie

It’s that time again, people. It’s like knowing your taxes are due or your annual review is pending. Yep, it’s time to learn some more ominous stuff about the United States – fifty separate little countries bound by one great big law. Or something. This week is Massachusetts, due to popular demand by one person (Jess).

Not only can I spell Massachusetts without looking it up (seriously, go me!) but I still, even as a grown up lady, get a real kick out of calling it “Massive Two Tits”. Because I can.

Now what can I tell you?

Well one, Massachusetts is apparently a commonwealth. I don’t know if that’s supposed to make it more fancy than other states, but it doesn’t work. Because no matter how fancy you think you are, your capital is still Boston, home of beans, chowder, Ally McBeal, Mark Wahlberg and that accent.

Two: Massachusetts is shaped like a gun to scare off Yankees’ fans. It doesn’t work.

Three, some people unkindly call people from Massachusetts “Massholes” but I would never be so rude. Particularly because some of you have few teeth and fists like hams (allegedly) and might show up on my doorstep with a machete and malice in your eyes telling me you’re going to “paahk your cah” on my head.

Four, according to the gospel of all that is real, Wikipedia, Massachusetts is a hotbed of higher education, advanced technology, healthcare advances and financial services. Yeah, you just get all smug about your big brains, Massachusetts. Just remember this. You also produced eternal frat boy Dane Cook and Mr. James Spader, or as I like to call him, “Mr. Creepy Pedo Lips”.

…not to his face or anything, you understand.

Moving swiftly on, Boston, back in the day, was the scene of the infamous Boston Tea Party, mainly because where else would you have something called “The Boston Tea Party”? It was some protest against the British taxing tea or some such thing I was too lazy to learn about because it involved true things and OH MY GOD, BORING, but it was something to do with Bostonians pouring copious amounts of tea into Boston Harbour. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a really shitty party to me. Particularly when there’s a dude called “Sam Adams” involved and we all know his beer is the tits. Maybe instead of dropping tea in the harbour they could’ve drunk some of that? Now THAT would be a party. Seriously, if someone asked me to their house for a party and proceeded to give me tea and said, “pour this down the toilet, it’ll be a blast!” I’d kick them in the nuts.

So how many friends of the Lord are there in Massachusetts, I hear you yell, because you just know I’m getting to it. Turns out 16% of people are dirty heathens like me, which I think you’ll agree is a big improvement on 6% from South Carolina last week. Wiki also claims 7% refused to answer which I’m pretty sure they did just to fuck with me. Or because they like Satan. So there’s your answer. At least 77% and as much as 84% of residents adore God, with the vast majority also approving Jesus.

To close, Massachusetts’ state insect is the ladybug (awww!) and its Gross State Product is Ben Affleck.
Don’t say I never teach you anything.

Balls

Thursday, February 10th, 2011 - Freeze-your-tits-off cold, barbecue chips, paint, whiny

This week’s been freezing cold, as I'm currently holed up in Canada unable to keep up with matters. You know that point in the month when you’re wearing your last clean pair of underwear because the mere idea of leaving a warm apartment and walking the fifty yards to the laundry room is just too much to bear because it would mean putting on pants not made of flannel and footwear (maybe) and a bra? Then you realize you are looking like you’ve just returned from being stranded on a desert island, complete with dirty face and feral yeti hair – picture the female equivalent of “The Dude” – and the fridge is starting to growl like an empty belly because you desperately need to drag your lazy ass to the supermarket? But it’s just so cold out and too much effort.

What’s the current temperature here in the cold assed Canadian ice fields, you ask? Somewhere around the temperature that cracks steel.

Talking of the supermarket (?) I made a small, impromptu visit last night, to get oatmeal and yogurt but instead got a touch sidetracked and ended up with a block of strong cheese, ginger ale and a giant wedge of chocolate that could take out a school bus if hurled correctly. This caused an excitement so great I totally forgot all about the oatmeal, which meant breakfast this morning consisted of a handful of Old Dutch potato chips and a glass of orange juice, a fact I’m not even apologetic about.

Plus when you stop and think about it, why should potato chips be any MORE unhealthy if you eat them for breakfast than any other time of day? They don’t magically turn into health food in your innards if you eat them with a sandwich for lunch, now, do they?

Although technically potatoes are vegetables, right? Aren’t we always being told to “eat more veggies?

Then I rest my case.

Also, if I can just suggest for a moment that whoever invented places like “Bulk Barn” need to be kicked in the netherlands. Any place that hypnotizes you with serene elevator music on its sound system then allows you to shovel giant trowels full of chocolate raspberry fondant balls (for example) into a bag until it overflows, is evil. Genius, but evil. Yet the other day, when I painted for about fourteen hours straight, those balls were appreciated because they gave me stamina and inspiration.

Inspiration to eat more balls, really.

Yes I did say that.

State facts are late this week, but what you are going to do, sue me? Suck on my chocolate raspberry balls and chill, people.

State’s Evidence: South Carolina

Tuesday, February 1st, 2011 – Late, thirsty, eye strain, itchy nipple

OK, my little dung bunnies, let’s get this state business out of the way nice and early in the week, so we can get on with less educational (!) and much more fun stuff. 

This week, as suggested by the lovely and charmingly accented Aly at Calling People Names, I will teach you all about the sheer awesomeness that makes up the heart of the Southern Eastern Seaboard - South Carolina.

Now I’m pretty willing to admit that I know fuck all about South Carolina apart from what I’ve seen of it while driving through it, en route to Florida, high on the fumes of sweet, sweet caffeine and muttered insanity.   This would consist mainly of the exceedingly classy and tasteful “South of the Border”, which oddly enough isn’t south of any immediate border except the one with North Carolina.  Oh the anticipation of miles and miles of exciting coming attraction signs that build to a crescendo just as you reach the Mecca of the South.  I think I even took a picture of that high class landmark of theirs.  Yep, here it is:

I have to admit, it wouldn’t be all that high on my list of shiny theme parks I’d like to visit.  It would, however, be high on my list of rickety, horrible theme parks where you could get some salmonella infused nachos and a confrontation with a rapey predator.  Sorry SOtB. 

The other thing I remember most clearly about South Carolina was the fact that the entire state seemed to be at war with itself.   The highway was stuffed full of billboards for either Jesus or strip clubs, sometimes both on the same board.   Fascinating stuff.   I really mean that.   Insane Jesus love and while you’re loving Jesus, please consider checking out some righteous titties.   Classy South Carolina, classy.    My suggestion is just to go right ahead and combine the fuck out of those things.  A nice big, white church where ladies dance in the nip round a big crucifix, while a crazed dude with an Elvis toupe, yells at parishioners in his shiny suit.

Anyway, what can I tell you about South Carolina that you might be able to impress people at dinner parties with?   Did you know that South Carolina was NOT, in fact, named after the nether regions of a hot chick called Carolina at all, but actually named after a dude named Charles?  King Charles I of England, as a matter of fact.  Why they didn’t just call it South Charles I have no idea.  Maybe old King Charlie liked wearing ladies’ panties?  I don’t know.  I’m guessing.  But I’m also guessing that my guesses are more interesting than the actual story.  So let’s just move on.

South Carolina is also the home of Myrtle Beach, which in turn, is the home of some of the most horrific large-people-in-small-swimwear sightings, seen on the entire east coast.  Honestly, trust me on this.  My retinae still sting and I break out in Gulf War Syndrome type rashes whenever I recall some of the hideous things I’ve seen there.

Interesting to note that South Carolina’s state dance is “THE SHAG”.  Hee.   Shag.  Who’s going to tell them that isn’t actually a DANCE?  And that Jesus most certainly wouldn’t approve?

Also interesting to note – SC’s colonial constitution was written by John Locke.

Really, who even knew it HAD a constitution? 

South Carolina was the first colony to declare independence from Great Britain, in 1776, despite the fact it drinks more tea than any other state.  This is a bit like being a heartless lover – take what you need then leave and never call.  During the Civil War, it also became the first state to secede from the union, in 1860, after being terrified that Abe Lincoln was about to become president and attempt to abolish slavery, leaving no one to bake a decent pie for the chill’un.   A pie drought in South Carolina was unthinkable.  It was a big old hot mess in those days really.  

As we’re keeping track of the religious traits of these states, I’m delighted to inform you that South Carolina has the lowest proportion of non-religious entities we’ve encountered so far – at 6%.  This means that 94% of South Carolinas would eat the entrails of Atheists at the drop of a hat.  Which is probably why I drove through it in a day or so.  Just to be safe.  I mean it was pretty and all, but I need my entrails.

…and burning crosses

Lastly, twice in South Carolina I encountered the following truck that disturbed me so much I had to take a photograph while driving.

Mozzarella Cheese, Food and PAPER PRODUCTS?  By “food” I have a sneaking suspicion they mean “Soylent Green”.   Plus the company’s called “CREMOSA”.  I don’t know about you but I don’t want to eat anything that comes from a company that sounds like it burns corpses while cooking pizza.  Interesting (to me only) fact – a few months later, when I’d all but forgotten about it, I came out of my apartment in Manhattan one morning and saw one of these trucks parked in front of the building.  I just about spattered a tan doughnut into my pants.  They’re following me.

Anyway, there’s your non educational, insulting portrait of South Carolina.   I do realize I didn’t teach you anything AT ALL except for my personal observations, but you know what?  Life’s disappointing, get used to it.

Next week it’s Massachusetts. 

Oh Kansas I’m Kneeling, Oh Kansas Please

Thursday, January 27th, 2011 – late/early, hungry, pear liqueur, who put glitter in my lip gloss?

As a pre-post courtesy, I should probably point out that I may or may not have been partaking in some tasty, potent liqueur shots before I wrote this, therefore, exempting me from any liability or offense the following extremely informative and intelligent ‘essay’ may cause.

INTRODUCING STATE NUMERO TRES: KANSAS

What I know about Kansas, you could probably fit on the back of a postage stamp. A really small postage stamp. I mean, the first thing a normal human thinks of (I’m using me as an example here and you can just shut up) when they think of Kansas, is tornados and the second is “The Wizard of Oz”. Which was set in Kansas. And had a tornado in it. Thus, proving my point. I defy you to tell me something else of immediate notoriety about Kansas, unless you live there, in which case I’m sure you know other stuff that’s at least moderately fun and hopefully gossip-worthy or illegal or both.

I also know that Kansas is comprised mainly of flat prairie land and is situated in the American Midwest. Someone still needs to explain to me, to my satisfaction, why the Midwest is even called the Midwest, because to the best of my knowledge most Midwestern states are either a) not even remotely in the west, or b) in the west but in the very easternmost side of the west. Let me show you what I mean with a canny diagram:

If we're being technical here, UTAH is really the midwest. Right? Also, YOU try writing with a mouse.

Back to Kansas, sitting slap bang in the middle of the country, minding its own business.

Its name comes from the native American tribe “Kansa”, which means “flat, hot, hella windy and thankfully on the border of more interesting states like Colorado

* ”. Okay, I’m kidding, it actually means “people of the wind” but I like my version better. Although maybe people in Kansas just eat a lot of bean burritos, I don’t know. I wouldn’t go putting money on it in Vegas or anything.

Perhaps its slogan should be - Kansas: Full of farts

Anyhoo, here’s an interesting fact courtesy of the book of all that is true - Wikipedia. Apparently Kansas holds the record for the joint fifth highest temperature (along with North Dakota) ever recorded in an American State, at 121 degrees Fahrenheit. Holy fuckety that’s hot. That’s hotter than a naked Justin Bieber, sporting a tiny pink boner smothered in peanut butter, to a room full of 12 year old school girls and 40 year old moms.

Even more frightening a realization than that image I just planted in your mind, is finding out that only 9% of Kansans are non-religious. That’s an even higher proportion of Jesus Fish stickers than in West Virginia last week! If you’re of the Atheist or Agnostic persuasions, it’s probably best, for example, to detour to Colorado from Missouri, via Oklahoma or something. You know, if you enjoy the idea of keeping your balls and your limbs and your eyeballs and your hands, etc. Of course if you’re passing through Missouri you might already be sans hands if you passed through the Ozarks. I saw “Winter’s Bone” you know. I know what happens when shit gets real in that state.

That’s about it except to say, you know a state’s lost the plot a little when it has a city named after it and three quarters of that city is in another state entirely. I'm talking about YOU Kansas City.

I’m not sure I taught you anything here to be perfectly truthful…

Anyway, you all just have a smolderingly exuberant Thursday! Unless you’re in Australia or NZ or someplace where it’s already Friday, in which case, in the words of the great profit Cee Lo Green, fuck you. I’m only joking. You go ahead and spoil yourself by having a joyous Friday instead.

* Sorry Kansas

When Cute Turns Bad & Other Stories

Tuesday, January 25th, 2011 - Sunshine, coffee, Terry's White Chocolate Orange, Sci-Fi villains

This morning I was all gung ho about posting an entry I wrote last night about how sick I was of having to tell people their newborn baby was "beautiful" when to me, half the time, babies look like some sort of hideous Picasso painting or a Cabbage Patch Doll. About how I always want to say inappropriate things to new mothers like, "I expect he'll grow into those chins!" or "Is he supposed to look like that?" 

Today I'm sneezy. The rest of the week I'm going to work on being the rest of the seven dwarfs. Except maybe Doc. Because I don't cure anyone's ills.

And why is it "dwarfs" and not "dwarves"? Grammar rules don't apply. Did Walt Disney make that rule himself because in real life he was a man known for some rather questionable racist prejudices and being singular minded so one day he just decided, "Screw the grammar rules when it comes to pluralizing words ending in 'f'. I'm Walt Fucking Disney, we'll spell it my way!"?

Wait, what was I saying? Oh yes. My point is, my allergies are partying today all up in my nose caves. It's like someone toppled a tub of pepper in there. Gah. They feel full of goo. I'm sorry to bombard your visual receptors with that sexy image but there you have it. You can call me Snotty McGooerson.

On a totally different and irrelevant track, did I mention to you all I've been avoiding the news lately? Because I have. I've been not watching any news on TV or reading any news online AT ALL. Like when someone popped a cap in that lady politician down in Arizona, I didn't know for about three days and I only knew then because people kept referencing it on blogs. I was gloriously out of the loop. I like it. I feel free of global worry and liberated by ignorance. I'm not avoiding it forever, but it's certainly nice to have a break from all the crazy, scary crap going on in the world. There's a chance the world will end and the apocalypse will arrive at my door and I'll be sitting here all alone at my computer going, "Why is no one updating their blogs? Who will entertain me?" and be completely unaware of it. I'll only notice when I go to the store and there's no cheese left and the cashiers are...you know....zombies.

You may have gathered I don't have much to say today but I felt it my civil duty as one of the world's unofficial educators, that I bring you that baby article. Aren't you just happy to know me?

Happy Burns Day, Scottish people. May you eat haggis and raise your kilts and shake your hairy balls in the face of celebration! And may the rest of you stay the hell away from Scotland today.

It’s All About Me!

Friday, January 21st, 2011, breathing, exhausted, happy, itchy boob, craving oatmeal and yogurt

Well it’s been a while since I’ve produced a meme on a Friday and I bet you all thought “Thank God for that nonsense being over, we already know too much crap about your insanity!” Well surprise! Four people asked me to do memes this week because they got together and ganged up on me (not really) so I thought I’d do one of them for now and tackle the others on other Fridays. Maybe. If I remember.

 This week’s meme is from the sassy Wynn over at Chronicles of Wynn. Go see her and call her a bad name!

Rules:
1. Thank and link back to the wonderful blogging friends who gave me this award – oui! 2. Answer 10 survey questions – oui! 3. Pass the Award on to your fabulous blogging buddies - meh 

Q1. If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing this? If you aren't anonymous, do you wish you started out anonymously so that you could be anonymous now?

I do blog anonymously, yes, and I’m quite happy doing it. I’m not some secret freak or anything whose identity needs to be protected or someone would declare a jihad on me, but there’s public me and there’s private me and I like those people to be different people. I never understand people who put it all out there. There are perverts out there, people, who will print out your picture and lick it and maybe wait outside your apartment with firearms and candy.

Q2. Describe an incident that shows your inner stubborn side.

This is one of those questions like “What’s your favourite movie?” and “Who is the skinniest lady in Hollywood?” – there are so many possible answers and, yet, when asked, one can never come up with one. I’m very stubborn. I’m stubborn about everything because my head likes things to be a certain way and until it gets its way, it will not budge. For instance, last night I was sprawled on the couch with a headache and I couldn’t reach the remote to change the channel so my stubborness of “I am tired and therefore, will not move!” dictated that I lie there, frowning and watch two whole episodes of that godawful Bret Michaels’ reality show, feeling dirty and ashamed.

Q3. What do you really see when you look at yourself in the mirror?

Well truthfully it all depends on the mirror and my mood. My bathroom mirror is my BFF. It always manages to make my hair look shiny and delicious, my eyes sparkle and my skin look all peaches and cream. It never shows up those fine lines or insomnia eye bags and basically strokes my ego and makes me feel like a princess. All other mirrors in my house, however, should be covered in tarps and avoided at all cost, because they’ve obviously been tampered with and show some heinous pasty witch who needs a haircut and a decent foundation and a lip colour that doesn’t scream “WHORE IN THE HOUSE”!

Q4. What is your favorite summer cold drink?

Duh. Margaritas? FROZEN margaritas? It’s THE summer drink. They’re the perfect beverage. Cold like a slurpee, fruity like a soda, alcoholic as holy fuck yet cunning enough to go down smooth and trick you into thinking you’re not drunk until you stand up and fall over your own feet and refreshing as one of those TV showers under a waterfall in slow motion. The downside is of course, the next morning you always seem to wake up with your pants still half on because you got frustrated halfway through getting undressed and just gave up and also you feel like a team of angry wrestlers just moved into your head.

Q5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do?

Usually I like to sit and think of all the things I COULD do, then totally procrastinate all of them. I might paint though if the mood takes me. Or draw. Or read something if I’m feeling fruity. Or play my guitar or ukulele. Or work on my crochet blanket that is now the size of Texas. Or I might get a tasty, unhealthy snack and snarf it down while watching a movie. God what a boring answer. I’m almost ashamed of this answer.

Q6. Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life?

Pretty much everything. I’d still like to jet ski and paraglide and about 500 other such sporty endeavors. I’d like to just one day realize I’ve reached a point where I can go, “Holy shit, I’m content with everything and no longer feel any guilt or shame or resentment or fear or inferiority or fatigue or annoyance or urge for unhealthy foods or embarrassment or regret or the need to struggle. I’d like a nice car, that doesn’t overheat or try to kill me by dumping me on the highway when it’s minus three hundred degrees out, would that be okay? I’d like a couch I can lie down on without dangling over the edge. I’d like the metabolism of an 8 year old boy so I can eat cake and cheese all day every day and not put on an ounce. I’d like to appreciate wine properly and start running again and not curse in Walmart.

Q7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the shy person, or always ditching?

I was a hybrid of all of the above. I wasn’t the class clown except with my friends, I was shy but not chronically, I was pretty much a straight A student (yes really, shut up!) and in high school I ditched school fervently depending on the subject. Like whenever we had circuit training instead of a sport in gym I was all, “Thanks but if I wanted to be tortured to the point of death I’d listen to an entire Poison album!” then I'd go home for a couple of hours and eat cookies.

Q8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment in your life, what would you see?

I’d see a time where I used to get eight hours sleep and wake up as perky as a Disney movie. Oh wait, that would be never. Not the perky part anyway. I’m not a morning person. I will never be a morning person. I have a theory that people who embrace mornings need to be put on an FBI watch list or something because they clearly have motives beyond wishing for world peace. I think the most poignant moment in my life was honestly when I was 21 and my dog died. I say this purely because I can pinpoint that that was the day I actually felt a tangible, negative change in my life.

Q9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog, or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events?

I choose not to share anything deep on my blog. I don’t get into “me” at all in any real sense. I don’t find it hard to write about my true thoughts, I just prefer not to. Because it’s none of anyone’s beeswax. And because I prefer the social aspect of just chewing the fat with other crazy people online, without getting all serious. I’m a weird hybrid in real life of very serious and the polar opposite of very serious, which would be batshit crazy non serious. I find everything hilarious and nothing hilarious. I'm demonically anti-social. Even I think I’m a bit of an odd combination.

Q10. If you had the choice to sit down and read a book or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

I’d rather have my arm sucked off by a jet engine than talk on the phone. I hate phones. I have no fear of them particularly, I just despise them. They’re fine in a work setting but I can’t talk on them in any social manner because they aggravate me. I get all ants in my pantsy and want to get up and do things while on the phone. I fidget. I check email. I constantly let my mind wander off the conversation. I hate it. I will send a text or make a quick call if I need to make arrangements or something but other than that, you won’t find me chatting. I can go entire weeks without picking up my home phone. I’m happy to yak all night to you in a bar or in person somewhere but don’t call me, seriously. So I guess I’d read a book. Although I need to be in the mood to even do that these days.

Well wasn’t that all fascinating? I won’t tag anyone because I never do, but you all should think about doing this meme so I can gather up information on you all for my dossier, that I will use at some future point to blackmail you. Ok? Have a stellar weekend!